


I thought you were dead

by Sinistretoile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, Feels, Hawkeye - Freeform, Homecoming, Homecoming sex, Makeup Sex, Marvel Universe, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Surprise Ending, clint barton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinistretoile/pseuds/Sinistretoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint shows up at Gypsy's bar after being gone for 2 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I thought you were dead

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the events in the movie The Avengers.

Bright neon sizzled in the arid southwest heat. The New Mexican desert sang with coyote calls and nocturnal bird cries. Gypsy leaned on the banister, gazing out in the clear starlit night. Cars packed the parking lot. The raucous sounds of the country-infused heavy metal band thumped the walls.  
The noise flooded the night when the door opened, followed by a blast of chill air. She glanced over her shoulder. They'd have a good take tonight. Half the door went to the band. She got the other half. The waitresses and bartenders kept their tips, except for a $20 tithe. She was a generous boss, that's why she kept good help. And that's why the help made enough that a $20 tithe to the boss wasn't a big sacrifice.  
Gypsy pushed off the banister and set down on the wooden swing. She swung back and forth. Even after the disaster a few years back, business boomed. She had the 'secret' military installation to thank for that. The night was in full swing. The band stopped playing at one and then they'd party until 3. She and the girls would clean up and close down, rolling out around 4.  
That's exactly how the night went. The band played until 1 a.m. Their roadies tore down while the band drank and partied with the crowd. Things started to wind down about 3 a.m.  
Gypsy lined up her shot on the green felt. The balls cracked and rewarded her with a satisfying thunk. The door swung open. “Sorry, buddy. We've already done last call.”  
“No problem, I just want a black coffee.” Gypsy jerked. She recognized that voice! She turned slowly.  
“Gyps, it's your shot.” She white-knuckled the cue. She knew those shoulders sidling up to the bar. Her teeth ground with the set of her jaw. The scuffed cowboy boots thumped over to him with divine purpose.  
The man held up his hand to the coffee. “You might want to hang onto that.” Gypsy cracked the pool cue over the man's head. Everything in the bar stopped. The man fell to the floor, stunned. Gypsy dropped the broken cue to the floor, stood over him then crouched down and grabbed the front of his shirt.  
“Where the FUCK have YOU Been?!” He jerked her feet out of from under her. She dropped but he caught her on his thighs and yanked her feet toward his body as he sat up.  
“Busy.”  
“Busy? Busy?!”  
“Busy.” She started to get up and yanked her back down. “Are you gonna yell at me all night?”  
“I don't know! Maybe!”  
“Well, can I have my coffee then? I don't think my head can take blunt force trauma AND your bitching?” Her jaw fell open. He pushed her off onto the floor.  
“Ooph.” He rubbed the back of his head as he sat back down on the bar stool. His hand came away with blood. The bartender set the coffee in front of him. The bar resumed itself. “Come on, ass. Let's get you cleaned up.” Gypsy stood up and brushed herself off. He slid off the bar stool, taking the cup with him. He tipped it to the bartender and turned to follow her.  
The office was decent size. There was room for the desk and the filing cabinet and a bookshelf and a couple chairs. She dropped down into her comfortable black computer chair, with lumbar support and crossed her arms over her chest.  
“I thought you were going to clean me up.”  
“Answer my question.”  
“I told you. I've been busy.”  
“I saw you on the news. In New York, Clint.” He winced. “Fine, don't tell me. But I'll be damned if you're going to show up, fuck me for a few days then disappear again. No. Fucking. Way.”  
Gypsy stood up and grabbed the first aid. Clint sat down in the chair opposite the desk and looked down. She used a saline wipe to clean the blood out of his hair. She plucked a piece of broken wood out of the cut and tossed it into the trash. After brushing the wound with an alcohol prep pad and smearing some triple antibiotic ointment over it, she laid a piece of gauze on the wound. The tape wouldn't stay for long but it would stay long enough for it to clot and scab.  
“Look, Gyps, I'm sorry. I wanted to call but things happened so fast. I wasn't myself and then the whole alien invasion thing. And I've been busy.”  
“The whole superhero gig. I get it.” His hand closed around her wrist. He pulled her down as he looked up. Their lips touched.  
“Don't be mad, Gypsy.”  
“Too late. Look, I've gotta help the girls clean up and then you can come home and tell me all about it.” He nodded. “Just stay here. Don't leave.”  
“I don't plan on it.”  
The last customer left and the crew set about the nightly cleaning. Gypsy heard Clint's snores halfway down the hall. She leaned against the door jam. He'd moved into her office chair. His feet were propped on the corner. His head was leaned back. She'd missed the asshole. She'd watched the TV in utter fear he was going to be killed. Then he disappeared and never called. She thought he was dead.  
Gypsy tossed her keys at him. Clint's hand shot out and caught them before they hit the wall. “Are you ready?”  
“If you are.” He groaned and sat up. “You still live out on a Red Canyon road?”  
“Yea. Good. I dropped my stuff at your place before coming here. I've got my bike.”  
“I drove.”  
“I'll bring you in tomorrow.” He rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at her from under his eyebrows. “Ride with me.”  
She held out her hand for her keys. Clint stood. He wanted to touch her, but he knew if he started he wouldn't stop. “Lead the way.” Her employees had already left. She set the alarm and locked the door.  
Clint sat down on a dusty Harley. Gypsy had seen so many bikes over the years. She knew brands but models and specs and the like escaped her. She swung her leg over the bike and settled in against his back. She rested her boots on the foot peg. “You can put your arms around me, you know.”  
She didn't bother to respond, just wrapped her arms around his torso. The bike roared to life. A loud, throaty rumble that settled into Gypsy's chest. She laid her cheek against his shoulder. God, she'd missed him. The wind tore at her braid as they zoomed down the highway. The cool night air chilled her. They didn't speak. The wind and the engine didn't allow for that.  
The ride ended far too soon. Her boots made no sound in the desert sand and only soft thumps on the reddish-orange stone steps. The moon peaked through the clouds. His presence rolled over her, warm and electric at her back. She unlocked the door. His touch on her shoulder stopped her hand on the knob. The door swung open just a crack.  
“Gypsy, look at me.” She turned her head. “Do you hate me?” She sighed, facing him.  
“No, Clint, I don't hate you, but I am hurt. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thankful you're alive though.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her body up so that her feet didn't touch the porch and against his. She breathed him in. Kicking the door open, he carried her over the threshold. They never broke eye contact. His foot hooked around the door and closed it.  
“Do you like this shirt?”  
“It's not my favorite.”  
“Good.” He carried her through the dark house to her bedroom to drop her on the bed. She watched him as he shed the jacket and pulled the shirt over his head.  
Scars littered the canvas of his body, white, pink and purple-ish red. He kicked off his boots. Not saying a word, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans onto the pile of clothes. He pushed her back on the bed, his knees on either side of her hips. Grabbing two handfuls, he ripped the shirt down the middle, leaving her white lacy bra intact. Clint only kissed her when he was ready. The anticipation killed her every time, but the man could kiss. And kiss forever. She whet her lips, watching him tug her jeans down her legs.  
Clint grasped her hips and jerked her body flush to his. His hard cock pointed to the bed. His self-satisfied smirk twisted his thin but kissable lips. He rubbed himself along her moistening slit. Gypsy licked her lips in anxious anticipation. It'd been far too long. Two years? Nearly three?  
He leaned down and bit her thigh, just a simple closing of teeth. "Fuck, Clint. Just do it already."  
"Yes, ma'am." He crawled over to the nightstand on the side of the bed he slept on when he stayed with her. He opened the drawer and reached in for a condom. "Shit."  
"Other drawer, idiot. They'd be expired anyway."  
"Idiot?" He shifted to the other side of the bed. Gypsy leaned up and bit his chest right above his heart. He plucked a condom from the drawer then tore it open.  
Gypsy snatched it from his fingers. She wanted an excuse to touch him. Not that she needed one. He looked in her eyes as she placed it at the tip and rolled it slowly down his shaft with her thumb and two fingers. His eyes closed. A shudder rolled down his shoulders and back. When she reached the base, Gypsy glided her hand to his balls and rubbed them gently.  
Clint's hand shot out and closed on her wrist. "I won't last long if you do that."  
"You never last long anyway."  
"Really?"  
"Really."  
"Really." Clint held her wrist and twisted her around onto her stomach. She hadn't expected the movement but she didn't fight. Her cry was more from surprise than pain or fear. He held her wrist at the small of her back, using his legs to push her up onto her knees. "You know, I've had a rough time of it lately. And I wanted to see you. But now, I think I should have just stayed in New York."  
"Gods and superheroes." Gypsy scoffed. "I'm not good enough for the great Hawkeye, Clint Barton." She tried to rear up but he held her fast. "Go fuck that red head in leather and leave me to my vibrator, Clint." He held her wrist easily as she tried again to get up. "Or better yet, go fuck yourself, Barton."  
Clint growled and shoved her to the bed, moving over her body. "How about I fuck you? It's what we both want. You know it. You're being a bitch because I hurt you. I get that. Now, shut the fuck up, so I can make up for it."  
He held her wrist at the small of her back and held her down on the bed. She didn't fight. Her breath came quick. Clint licked her rapid pulse in her throat. He positioned himself at her entrance. The thrust was slow, excruciatingly slow. She bit her lip again, harder. Warmth radiated from where their bodies joined. He leaned over her back. There was no ceremony, no sweet words. They didn't need any.  
Clint closed his eyes and buried his face in the back of her neck, setting his teeth to her flesh like a dog in heat. Her grunts answered his with each thrust. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in the quiet house. She tipped her hips up to get a better angle to rub her clit and he pushed deeper, making her cry out.  
His rough hand traveled down her side. "Cum, Gyps." His breathless words twisted in her. She felt his body tremble, his thrusts ease back. "I-I can't hold back."  
"Harder, Clint." He shuddered and his hips jerked involuntarily.  
"I'm so close, Gyps. I can't." She sighed, frustrated. She braced her hand on the bed to push him off of her. With a growl, he pushed her down harder and jerked her hair. "Where are you going?"  
"Bathroom, to do it myself."  
"Don't fucking think so." Their fingers dug into her back. He held her braid at the base of her skull. "I didn't come back to the desert to hear you cum and not feel it. Now, cum for me, Gypsy."  
He'd become more forceful since they'd been together. It wasn't a bad thing. Her hand slipped underneath her and between her legs. Clint thrust his cock deep and hard, drawing her moans out. She wanted hard and goddamn, was he giving it to her. She'd be bruised in the morning no doubt. She pinched and rubbed her clit until her body shook.  
"That's a girl. Cum with me, babe." He let go of his restraint and pounded into her. The head of his cock hit her sweet spot once, twice, three times, jolting her in tandem with her clit. "Cum, goddammit." His rough voice trembled at her ear. He jerked her braid and rode out his orgasm. She followed right behind him.  
Clint didn't stop until she lay limp underneath him. He let go of her wrist and fell to the side. She pushed herself up onto her elbows. He tucked his forearm under his head, stretching his short but muscular body out the length of the bed. Her smile faded.  
"You're gonna get yourself killed."  
"That's a possibility"  
"Why do it?"  
"Because I can."  
"Clint, I-" She sat up suddenly and slid off the bed. "I can't give you what you want." She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked out over the desert. The deep blue of the night sky had begun to lighten.  
His warmth pressed to her back. Calloused fingers traced the lines of her shoulders and down her arms and sides. He wrapped his arms around her belly and pulled her back into his chest. "And what do I want, oh sage one?"  
"Peace. You want peace. But I saw you. I can't give you the peace you need." She tried to turn to face him, but he held her tightly in place. His cheek rested against her hair. "You held your own with them. With gods and superheroes against aliens." She closed her eyes, knowing the truth of it even though she wanted it to be a lie. "I can't give you that peace as a bouncer at a bar. They can." Her chest hitched. "She can."  
"Gypsy. You give me peace. A different kind of peace. They give my beast a release. You calm him."  
She scoffed. "So I'm just supposed to keep the pussy warm for you to come back and fuck when things get too weird with them?"  
He laughed. "That'd be nice."  
"Fuck you, Barton."  
"You will. You like it too much to tell me no." He was right, dammit. She sighed. "As long as I'm alive, I'll always come back, Gypsy. You have a piece of me." He nuzzled his cheek against her, his thumb caressing her belly. "A couple actually."  
"Do you want to see him?"  
Clint swallowed, suddenly nervous. "He's here?"  
"Of course." His arms fell away as she moved forward. She gently took his hand and lead him down the hall, through the living room and down another short hall. She quietly opened a door to a bedroom. His keen eyes made out toys on the floor, monster decals on the wall. He made out the shape of an older woman sleeping in a twin bed.  
Clint and Gypsy navigated the toy-strewn floor to the crib. He looked down at the toe-headed baby boy sleeping in the bed. Reaching out, he touched the white blonde hair and his pudgy cheeks. Nothing passed between them. There wasn't anything to explain or say.  
Gypsy closed the door softly then lead him back to her bedroom. "They've been taking care of you, yeah?"  
"Yes, we've been getting the money."  
"Does he know?"  
"That you're his father? I think so." She pulled her robe over shoulders. "But Iron Man is his favorite."  
"Iron Man is everyone's favorite." Clint hugged her against his chest. "What's his name?"  
Gypsy nestled against his chest. "Hawk."


End file.
